


Little Red

by Anonymous



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Armie is part human and part wolf, Little Red Riding Hood AU, M/M, Werewolves, inner turmoil, non-con, non-con will happen, timmy is 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 18:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A fey boy in a little red jacket finds its way into Armie's territory.





	1. Chapter 1

I’m a lonely man.

  
Well, as lonely as I can be in the forest, among the microscopic little bugs and land animals which in the others minds don’t count as company, but it does to me.

  
Humans fear my kind, and I don’t beg to differ with them. In my mind, it’s better to let be.

  
My house is made of logs, vines and mud, all put together by myself. It took a month for me to finish it. I exist alone. My mother long gone, my father was never there. The days are fine, bleak, the nights are treacherous in my loneliness. I prowl for hours but find nothingness. All alone but the kiss of blue moonlight.

  
I howl for hours at a time, till my voice gets scratchy and raw. When I hunger for blood I attack the other wolves, it’s filling but never satisfying.

  
I wish for the flesh of a human. The silkiness of their skin. I don’t want to devour them, nothing about eating a human is appealing to me. I want to lick, bite and ravish one in marks and bruises. To claim but not kill.

  
Tonight, I seek.

  
I hear the telltale crunch of leaves under careful feet.

  
I see the shadow, quaint and slender, unexpectedly human shape.

  
My eyes burn with their red glow. My gaze goes tinted. My nostrils flare with a deep ferocity.

  
I stall my drive to transform into my beast. I lack any bearings of restrain when I’m changed.

  
I rest my feet on a large stone, I creep slowly, easing my way into the shadows.

  
The figure is pacing slowly, worried filled, casting wary glances both directions every moment.

  
I catch a mere glimpse of the humans features. They are elf like. Little features on a porcelain pale face.

  
My hunger longs deeper at this.

  
I then wonder how old this boy is. His young appearance is swamped in androgyny. Long curls, skinny limbs, a button nose, and most of all a beautiful mouth. A mouth as crimson as my body after I tear another wolf’s throat out.

  
The moon begs me to turn on my feet. The human side of me is from my mother’s side, it’s a great disadvantage compared to the other wolves. They don’t regret, there is no guilt, just a lust for pain. I wish I had it all in me to cure this longing.

  
I wish to coddle this nervous figure at the same time I wish to strip him raw, get him terrified. I regret my entire existence.

  
I move messily on accident. Unknowingly kicking a rock that whips into the dry veins of an oak tree, causing a loud clatter that sends the boy whipping his head in my direction.

  
I freeze on spot, my coarse arm hairs standing on edge.

  
The boy stares and stares. Right on my figure as if trying to make it out.

  
If I don’t move…

  
The moon catches my frame from its ever moving position. The boy screams, runs.

  
I go feral. Instinctively, all muscle memory of chasing thousands of wolves time and time before ignites within my bones. I chase after.

  
He is no match for my speed, strength or cravings. I could hurt him in seconds if that’s what I desired.

  
He calls out for help, begs into the empty woods. His jacket is as red as the feral blood pumping through my veins.

  
He is so near I can taste him, the fear dripping off him in waves.

  
I slow my speed, I don’t wish to mow him down.

  
He trips over bark, his legs shooting up as he falls face forward.

  
He cries out. I stop running. I slowly walk to his trembling figure.

  
“Please no! Please!”

  
His begs are pretty like his face, which is overly flushed and tear stained.

  
He goes silent as I stand before him. Wide eyed like his fear suffocates his vocal cords to speak.

  
“Little one, I am not here to hurt you.”

  
“Don’t touch me,” the boy yelps, scooting backwards as I extend my greeting hand.

  
“What are you doing out here, at dusk, all alone little red?”

  
The boy still appears terrified, as he stutters when he speaks. “I’m going to my grandma’s."

  
I hum. A curve of a pleased smile marking my cheeks. So innocent in his quest.

  
“You are a good boy?”

  
The boy whimpers, like my words hurt him somehow. “Y-yes.”

  
I lean down, grab his shaking legs and peer at his face to familiarize myself with such doll like beauty.

  
He squirms in my grip, “are you a good boy?” I repeat boldly.

  
This time, his eyes are less fearful, more full of a monsoon of confusion and wonder, as if he’s envisioning this to be all but a dream.

  
He looks down at where I trap him and then back up at my face.

  
“Yes,” he swallows thickly.

 

 

  
I take him back to my home. He is hungry, scared and light on my shoulder. I carry him as if he were a child. He clings like one too, he whines when my unkept nails accidentally dig into the delicate skin of his thighs.

  
I feed him tea and roasted rabbit when I light up a fire. The fireplace is the warmest part of my home, all I have is simple. A little thick rug I stole from villagers, a mattress that’d been abandoned in a vacant house I stole belongings from, and a stack of wool blankets taken from the same place too. My fireplace is where I cook. I drink from the cool pond just a mere minute walk from my home.

  
“You haven’t decorated much,” the boy ponders, I wonder if it’s to distract himself from the odd situation or if he’s genuinely interested.

  
Whatever his intentions are do not matter to me. His presence is nice. So refreshing.

  
“Do I appear to be a man who cares for decorating?” I ask, giving him a once over.

  
He sips the tea I’ve made of the mint leaves that grow near the pond.

  
He scrunches his nose at his refilled cup, too hot for his soft petal of a mouth.

  
“No, I guess decorating doesn’t fancy you.”

  
“Or I don’t fancy it,” I quip a bit casually, allowing a slight smile to ease on his lips.

  
It feels foreign to enjoy. One more look at the boys innocent eyes curls my guts.

  
“You are far too naïve to understand such things,” I explain bitterly. Allowing my safety of a scowl to etch back on my face.

  
The boy is relentless, leaning forward on a palm, “how so?” he squints, eyeing me up like I’m a flashy villager.

  
I grimace deeply, fold my thick, calluses fingers together.

  
“Do you see these scars?” I ask, flashing the long thick one on my neck by tilting my jaw up.

  
The boy nods, lips pursing.

  
“I am a man who has done very horrible things. Things a mind like yours couldn’t dream about,” I sigh in irritation.

  
“You believe I am dumb?” the boy asks quizzically.

  
I flash a pointed grin. I can’t help it.

  
“No, I find you fey and whimsical, that’s why I fancy you.”

  
“You fancy me?” the boy says in disbelief, shrinking back in his little stack of pillows he’s sat upon.

  
I narrow my eyes, he is terribly waifish and beautiful.

  
“Do you not own a mirror?”

  
The boy blushes, eyeing his own bare toes.

  
“I do, though many have not seen me in that light.”

  
“How so?” I inquire truthfully, if my beast was out I wouldn’t be able to contain myself so thoughtfully.

  
The boy sips his tea, I watch his mouth suckle softly.

  
“My father believes I’m too fragile and weak unlike my brothers. I tend to chores with my mother, my brothers are stronger and work with my pa. He isn’t proud of the way I am.”

  
I take his bony wrist in my grasp, it’s otherworldly small.

  
“You are built very rare like,” I admit casually, enraptured by his delicate nature. He’s too thin to be manly and too bony to be soft like a woman.

  
The boy reddens like the apples do in spring. I smile. My temptations reminded, thundering in my head.

  
“I fear the night but I was too deep within the trees to turn back home, but now that I’m here.. May I sleep here tonight?”

  
He’s shy about the request.

  
I eat up every ounce of it.

  
I kiss his hand like I’d seen princes do to their princess’s in films.

  
“Of course,” I smirk. My heart panging with two different wants.

 

 

  
I let him rest his limbs by the fire. I poke at it a couple times through out the night, making the angry flame keep alive. He is soft, fragile as he sleeps. His lashes are long and dark and he drools a little, very cherub like.

  
My beast hungers to feed even if I wish it gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non con warning

I don’t need sleep often. It’s natural for wolves to run on just mere hours of rest. I couldn’t even think of such things tonight. With this fragile thing of a human in my home does not at all aid me in resting my thoughts.

  
My mind paces as wild as my beast.

  
The boy is curled in on himself. A vulnerable positioning. I admire his beauty greatly. He is made of such heavens I know very little about. His being is one I’ve never witnessed before.

  
The town lady I used to get with, Elizabeth, a pastry worker in littleton with a overly high look at herself was nothing comparable to this boy. She expressed her unimpressed jargon on my tastes in a constant manner. She wanted me to be logger, to move into town and wed one day. I couldn’t, she hadn’t known my truth. She didn’t know my beast.

  
The boy’s legs are pale, limb long like a tree branch. Thin and curled together, his toes are pink. I wonder if the little mosquito bites on his ankles would itch if I touched them. Human skin is such a sensitive nature, my skin is more bearing, less prone to the illnesses humans fall to.

  
I refill my tea, idle in my thoughts. My trousers are uncomfortable, stiff around the knees from overwear. I shuck them off as hastily as I can. My underwear is fresh, new. I had taken the item recently and washed them in my pond just a mere dusk ago.

  
The boy is unintentionally arousing as he motions in his sleep. Turning onto his stomach, terrifyingly innocent in how his thumb finds the suckle of his mouth.

  
I strain my throat, stern in not too breathe too deeply. A moment so precious of what I am not fully aware of.

  
He makes my gut fill with an odd sensation. A sickening, perverse flood of warmth. A tenderness for him.

  
I anger at myself for the trivial thought. I flash my gaze at him. I don’t trust him. His powers to derive such wrong sensations in my being.

  
His emblematic traits of youth mixed with sensuality deceit my trust in myself. Like a witch, or those tales of the sirens as sea he is not to be desired. He is to be the prey, not the temptress.

  
My underwear are loose on my hips, a tad stretched from my ravishing drying session. All my pent up frustration were laid to rest on every pull of the sad cotton at the pond yesterday. My sex aches in them, wishing it carnal hunger to be freed from its temporary restraints.

  
The boy exhales a little heavily, deep into sleep. His mouth is swollen around where it’s latched on his thumb, sucking idle like it’s a lolly.

  
I crave to open that mouth, to witness if its as sweet as it appears.

  
I stand. I creep slowly to his frame. Soft, gentle steps that wouldn’t dare wake a mouse.

  
The blanket around him in wrinkled on his waist, barely needed with the whipping fire by his head.

  
His shorts, dress shirt and maroon jacket is long discarded in a heap by the door. He’s alone in nakedness besides the thin underwear rested on his hips.

  
“Oh, little one,” I whisper a calm breath to my own ears, soft as I lift the blanket. I peer under, his upper thighs are a gleaming white, paler under the slight rise of his briefs.

  
I touch. My breath held and my fingers meek. I do not wish to disrupt him so quickly.

  
His hips raise naturally as my fingers trail his inner thigh, dipping under smooth fabric.

  
His cock is freed easily, the inner thighs of his undies loose enough. It’s flaccid, pink and fitting. He whimpers quiet like in his sleep as I trail his balls. They’re plump, round and full. My canines bite unknowingly into my bottom lip.

  
Allowing myself to be more inspecting I peel the grey briefs down his dainty hips. He is smooth everywhere all except the little brunette patch of hair above his cock. I bypass it completely, this isn’t intended for him. My desires are striking in my veins. I withheld long enough.

  
I push one hand deep into the blanket, passing the bone jut of his pronounced ribs and finding a perked nipple. They are tastefully small. Sensitive to the touch. My hands are big, my skin rough, he whines high in throat as I pinch.

  
His hips arch, I resist the urge to awake him by shoving them down. I’m just getting started.

  
He is immensely responsive by the slightest of touches. I slowly peck the ivory glow of his lithe thighs. The tender middle of them, trailing up. His knees tremble as he parts them. He turns in his head into his pillow, still not aware of the reality happening upon his body.

  
I tease a quick suckle on a round ball of his, he hisses through clenched teeth and my heart beats hungrily in my throat. I move my starved mouth upward, nipping until I get to the tiny raise of his belly. He’s frail everywhere else but in this place, he’s soft. I press my nose deeply there, humming in elation and greed. He smells of honey suckle and a light sheen of sweat.

  
My mind torments me with visions of filling the rise of his flesh, other visions of me tenderly holding him, of me having the ability to not ruin.

  
The mind is cruel and sweetness has never done me no good. Love is pain. I’ve known of that wisdom for far too long.

  
My sex aches and I am reminded of my reasons he is here in the first place. My human side has done nothing but desecrate my strength.

  
I can’t hold off any longer nor do I intend to. I cast one glance at his sultry face and peel his legs apart to my liking. He shifts but wonderfully enough doesn’t wake. His soft little cheeks part at the stretch of his sprawled legs. His hole is teeny. A gentle slit of pink nestled in his smooth crack.

  
My throat aches to taste his ripe little cunt. I wonder how it’ll feel for him, to wake up unknowingly with the coarse scruff of a man devouring between his cheeks.

  
I lick a tender, fat stripe past his balls down to his perineum. His stomach quiver at the notion. I spit down on his hole. It twitches glossy slick, the wetness reminding me of my last lover. I have no doubts he’ll be tight like she was, tighter even. I cruelly note in my head the certainty of a virgin this boy is.

  
I trace his pinkness, his hole like hot velvet on my fingertip.

  
He mewls like a bitch when I insert my finger in his sweet crevice.

  
His body so shut his hole molds around the shape of my finger. Fire ignites in my spine to take and breed this waiting body.

  
I pull out, wiping my excess spit on his thigh. He is a intensely heavy sleeper. His hole clenches around air, already missing something in it.

  
I allow my saliva to pool thick in my mouth, I spit into my open palm and let it drop down to my hung cock, slicking it up. The unbearably stiffness of it makes my pulse pump hot against my palm.

  
I guide my cock to his little crevice, his face is like a painting. Peaceful, closed lidded, like an angel that the churches praise about.

  
My gaze blazes. I guide my cock to his inviting entrance, the size difference suddenly incredibly stark to me. His frail body, passive and lax in my home, on my floor. My hulking body leant over his, ready to bust his body for my own depraved pleasure.

  
My tan hands are Sun damaged, proof that I’ve aged. His thighs, the smooth tummy of his, the childish nipples, it’s all riveting. I can’t stall even if I tried to.

  
My canines fight to extend. My beast drools to reveal itself. I possess it off, I don’t wish to kill him. My werewolf body would destroy his petite frame.

  
My hips anchor forward. The head of my shaft catches on his rim, sliding down his spit slick crease. His brows twitch but his inhales stay even.

  
I press harder this time, impatient to feel the tell tale stretch of a cunt around my cock.

  
A loud noise of discomfort leaves the boys lips. His lids open sluggish but surprised.

  
“Sir-“ he resists, his eyes going wide as the reality of the situation falls upon him. His legs lock up around me, a weak attempt to restrict me. I boil at the thought of him refusing me.

  
“Don’t try resisting you harlot,” I hiss, growing increasingly frustrated at the action. How dare he tempt me with his boyish body and seductive gaze all day to then act so unaware of his being?

  
He looks fearful, he stills passively in time for me to press in the tight little glove between his legs.

  
He nearly screams out, his brows twist together and his eyes go even bigger. I grab his chin, thumb at his filthy mouth.

  
He does not try to fight as I begin my thrusts in his pliant body, nor does he stall as I lean downward to suck on his nipples.

  
“It h-hurts, sir,” the boy cries out.

  
I slow my thrusts, punctuating my purpose in his being by thrusting deeper.

  
“This isn’t meant for your pleasure, do you understand?” I speak simply.

  
He is submissive as he nods, tears clinging to his lashes as he allows me to invade his body to my complete fulfillment.

  
“Good boy, you have such a tight little cunt, tell me boy, has any other man been inside you?”

  
I muse at my own words. The stutter of his innocence.

  
“No- no sir,” he cries out in a high pitch as I shift inside him. His limp cock twitching against the slope of his tummy.

  
I still all the way inside him, grinding deep into his tender, snug walls just to idolize the way he squirms.

  
“You feel so good, such a good little bitch allowing a man to stuff you full of cock,” I gesture, firmly pressing my encompassing palm on his belly. “That bump there is me, I’m so deep inside you, do you realize?”

  
The boy’s eyes look even greener in the flickering light of my fireplace. There is acceptance in them.

  
“Yes, I feel it all.”

  
I snap my hips just to hear his voice break. He clings to me, tense when I bottom out. He is impeccable. His body sucking me in with a hunger I’d never felt.

  
His cries get louder in my ears. Pleasure or pain it doesn’t matter to me. He stays wanton while I use him.

  
The candles I’ve lit earlier by the door die out from draft. We are left in nothing but heated breath and red fire glow.

  
I am nearing my peak. My toes curl and my hips stutter. His nails cut into my shoulder blades. I hope it scars. I took a permanent piece of him that I’ll never return, I wish to never forget it.

  
“Have you wished for this?” I ponder out loud, my balls tightening at every broken noise he makes, “to be filled, destroyed, a man’s seed within you?”

  
His curls are sweat slick, matted to his forehead now. A broken Cupid. A sad tale to be told in centuries. A story people will believe is a tale.

  
His lips puffy, the look in his eyes defeated. The tear tracks on his cheeks are still, drying up. I believe he’s numb.

  
“Y-yes,” he admits.

  
I groan out, husky, deep. A rise within my chest. My beast lashing at its cage. I fill him. My hips halting against quivering cold thighs.

  
The moonlight is greeting through my window. My tea long cold.

  
He cries now, again, his chest puffing on every intake of life. He doesn’t look lively anymore. A sick lack of saturation now in his skin.

  
An ache creates life in me.

  
“Stop- you can’t-“ I say, it dies in my throat. You can’t hurt me I want to say, but it’s a lie. He can. He has.

  
“I never meant to hurt you,” I whisper, I jolt back. Scolded as if he assaulted me.

  
He is puffy eyed. Weeping like the willow trees out east.

  
“Can I hold you?” I croak. I suddenly feel useless. All the human that is half of me.

  
He doesn’t say anything when I do. I whisper desperate apologies into his hair. He twitches, chokes on coughs but doesn’t fight my hands wrapping around his waist.

 

 

“What are you?” he asks, hours later, Dawn kissing the sky.

  
“I told you before you wouldn’t understand. I- I wish I hadn’t shown you.”

  
The boy sniffles tiredly.

  
“I’m of different kind. A beast.. Of some sort.”

  
When he doesn’t reply I rest a feather like, worried filled hand on his hip.

  
“Did I hurt you.. Badly?”

  
The boy whimpers in shock at the touch.

  
“A.. A little,” he admits, submissive. I feel terrible.

  
I fight back the burn of cursed tears.

  
“I wish I could reverse things, if you were of my kind you would understand why I did what I did.”

  
“Are you a-“

  
“A werewolf yes, and I claimed you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....... The angst is real up in here..


End file.
